


Recovery is a Process

by KestrelShrike



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hair wash, Intimacy, Post ME3, prompted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 05:04:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11074614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: This was a prompted request- 'having their hair washed by another.'Because my own mind is trash, my immediate thought was a post ME3 fic, so I could have that much more pain in there.Originally posted to kestrelsansjesses.tumblr.com





	Recovery is a Process

“Garrus, I can wash my own hair.” Shepard pushed herself up from the wheelchair where she was still spending at least several hours a day, legs wobbling beneath her. No. She could do this. She could stand and walk the few steps it would take to get to the Normandy’s shower, just like she could somehow convince her bruised and broken body to let her remove her own clothing, just like she could convince a broken hand and several broken fingers to lather her hair and let it wash out the drain. The Normandy. Home. She was home, not in the hospital, and she wanted to feel human again. 

Her left leg buckled and Shepard started to go down, Garrus catching her elbow and propping her up, not saying anything, just being there, something to lean against. He was like a wall, but warmer, more comfortable. “Shepard.” A single word to break the silence of her shaking steps, but that was all he needed. 

Garrus undressed her slowly, movements careful and not sensual. “I’m not going to break,” Shepard said irritably, though she had to secretly confess to herself that it was a relief that his hands didn’t brush her numerous cuts and wounds with too much force. It helped that she was not yet at the point where she could wear most normal clothes, relying on a tunic someone had helpfully sewn the N7 insignia onto, as if this could make her feel better. 

He undressed himself next, more out of practicality than for anything else; there was no need for Garrus to get his clothing completely soaked in the process. Shaking off all his offers of help, Shepard walked herself to her private bathroom, leaning against the wall when she had finally got there, flicking on the water as hot as it would go and hissing as it stung every inch of her body even as it relaxed her muscles. One day she wouldn’t be in pain, but the road to recovery was still almost endless; she couldn’t see where it might take her. Chakwas had wanted to put a seat and a bar in the shower, but Shepard had stopped the doctor there. There were already so many reminders of what that last battle had done to her battered body. She didn’t need one more, even if it meant that every shower was a physically taxing experience. 

Garrus came in behind her silently, letting the water hit him and sighing slightly. “Too hot for you?” she teased, trying to disguise how much she was relying on the tiled wall to hold herself up. 

“Hardly, Shepard. Here.” He took the shampoo, reaching around her easily. It was a bottle Shepard hadn’t seen before- someone had been into her space, tried to make things comfortable, and she strongly suspected the culprit was standing right behind her. A scent reminiscent of the sea filled the small space- something salty, underlaid with something sweeter. It reminded her, with an unexpected pang, of Thane and Mordin, the people she’d lost so recently. 

“Can I?” The shampoo pooled awkwardly in Garrus’ hand, and Shepard nodded, stepping slightly out of the spray so he could gently lather her hair, his claws providing an unexpected scalp massage as he worked it through, not getting ideal coverage but at least trying his best. She found herself relaxing even more, leaning slightly against Garrus. 

Even though she was still standing, Shepard was still so tired. They told her that was part of recovery- resting and sleeping were the best thing she could do for her body, but also the hardest thing for her to do. Something about sitting still felt so unnatural, but you could only come back from the dead so many times before you realized listening to your ship’s doctor might be the best course of action. “You’re pretty bad at this, Garrus,” she said, water punctuating her words. 

He grunted in affirmation, helping her rinse out her hair, supporting her as the water rolled down her face, cleansing as anything could have ever been. Her bandages would have to be changed after this, an act of intimacy with which they were both already far too familiar. 

“Shepard, you want to go on that vacation after this? You, me, the beach, those drinks with little umbrellas in them.” 

“I don’t think my body is swimsuit ready, Garrus.” It might never be. She was lucky she could even walk, but gratitude was hard to find. 

“Looks pretty good to me, Shepard.” He teased the back of her neck with a kiss to punctuate her point and she swatted at him, too tired to do much else but lean into him again. If she never had to get out of the shower again, that would be great. 

Rinse, lather, repeat. If Garrus had learned one thing from watching too many vids, it was that. The shampoo was cool on the top of her head, a fresh wash of the sea filling their small space again. “To hell with it. We both deserve a vacation. You find a planet and I’m there.” His hands were playing with her hair still, trying to braid it but not doing much other than tangle it hopelessly. It was good he couldn’t see the smile she was hiding incredibly poorly. 

“I already have a place in mind. Miles of white sand and not a single Reaper in sight.” Now Shepard turned to look at Garrus, putting her arms around him gratefully. 

“What would I do without you, Garrus?” He had been with her since she first woke up, was with her still for every part of recovery. People in her life came and went, but Garrus stayed, her only constant. 

“Have really dirty hair, Shepard.”


End file.
